


Cause Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Angst and Feels, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, Gun Violence, If not a little bossy, Implied I suppose, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mates, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Murder, Non-Canonical Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Past Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Underage Drinking, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t always like this. They were happy once. Happy with each other. Happy in each other’s arms. But that was all a distant memory.</p><p>For the past year, Stiles spent every waking hour in training. He ran reconnaissance for Gerard. He did target practicing with Allison. He did hand-to-hand combat with Chris. He learned knife and poison play from Kate. He let the Argents change him, for what he thought was the better. He pushed memories of the past away, never forgetting—never forgiving—what his father had looked like. He ran from his home, from his friends, from him. And he never looked back.</p><p>Derek had let Stiles run. He let Stiles hate him for what other werewolves had done. He let him yell words of hate at him until he was red in the face. He let his uncle manipulate him into arming the pack to partake in the centuries old war between hunter and werewolf. He embraced the nature of an Alpha at war.</p><p>And if their stolen glances at one another lasted longer than they should have, they never let anyone comment on it. They let themselves believe they hated one another, because that was what the war needed—what they needed in order to rationalize what they’d done in the name of vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post ([x](http://lightwoodsmalec.tumblr.com/post/119455323173/you-know-it-used-to-be-mad-love-so-take-a-look)) and it kind of got away from me and transformed. And, obviously, based off of Taylor Swift's new song, [Bad Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcIy9NiNbmo).
> 
> Stiles, Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Allison are all around 18/19, freshly graduated from high school. Derek is still Alpha, and the pack pretty much lives together in the newly rebuilt Hale mansion, because that gives me feels.

_Oh, it’s so sad to_

_Think about the good times_

_You and I_

_Cause baby, now we got bad blood_

_You know it used to be mad love_

_So take a look at what you’ve done_

_Cause baby, now we got bad blood_

_Now we got problems_

_And I don’t think we can solve them_

_You made a really deep cut_

_And baby, now we got bad blood_

~0~0~0~0~0~

It wasn’t always like this. They were happy once. Happy with each other. Happy in each other’s arms. But that was all a distant memory.

For the past year, Stiles spent every waking hour in training. He ran reconnaissance for Gerard. He did target practicing with Allison. He did hand-to-hand combat with Chris. He learned knife and poison play from Kate. He let the Argents change him, for what he thought was the better. He pushed memories of the past away, never forgetting—never forgiving—what his father had looked like. He ran from his home, from his friends, from _him_. And he never looked back.

Derek had let Stiles run. He let Stiles hate him for what other werewolves had done. He let him yell words of hate at him until he was red in the face. He let his uncle manipulate him into arming the pack to partake in the centuries old war between hunter and werewolf. He embraced the nature of an Alpha at war.

And if their stolen glances at one another lasted longer than they should have, they never let anyone comment on it. They let themselves believe they hated one another, because that was what the war needed—what they needed in order to rationalize what they’d done in the name of vengeance.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Derek was rigid on his feet, his body tense as Erica and Boyd stood in his flanks. They were all stiff, waiting for the hunters to go back on their word, as they always did. But Derek wasn’t an idiot. He knew how they worked. He sent Scott with Peter and Isaac to remain hidden, keeping an eye out for any double crossing.

Lydia remained behind, stating that she would start a bigger war if she had to face Allison. She still hadn’t forgiven her for landing the killing blow against Jackson—no matter how rabid he had become, he was still their friend at one point. She was more frightened by how cold and calculated Allison was when she shot the arrow into his chest.

Derek rolled his shoulders as the car pulled up. He had been uneasy from the beginning, but now that they were here, he had to maintain the mask he started wearing about a year ago. He had to pretend that he didn’t want this to end in anything but blood. He had to pretend that he didn’t care if his Betas died for ‘his cause.’

“At least it’s Chris,” Erica murmured when Chris emerged from the driver’s side.

“Just because he’s here, doesn’t mean Gerard isn’t,” Boyd replied.

Derek ignored their comments, eyes fixed on Chris. “You can tell your daughter to back off,” he announced, registering the amused look on Chris’ face as he spoke.

“That obvious, huh?” Chris replied, looking up at the overhang. He nodded to the shadows, only then did Erica and Boyd notice a figure moving from the darkness to descend the distant ladder.

“Can’t be too trusting,” Allison commented as she reached the bottom of the ladder, moving to join her father.

Derek scoffed, earning a small snicker from Erica. “Funny, hearing that come from you.”

Allison drew the string of her bow back, aiming an arrow at Derek. Erica and Boyd reacted instantly, the faces shifting into their beta forms as they growled at her.

“Go ahead,” Derek faintly smiled, his heart not skipping a beat. “If you really think I won’t catch it and rip your father’s throat out in the second it takes for you to grab another arrow,” he darkly added, eyes flashing crimson.

“Don’t anger the animal, Allison,” an old voice grumbled from somewhere behind the vehicle. Allison released the pull she had on her bowstring, easing her hold on it as she lowered the arrow.

“Told you,” Boyd growled when Gerard emerged into the bright beam of the headlights to join his son and granddaughter.

“You wanted this meeting,” Chris started.

“And you agreed to it,” Derek replied.

“Just another trap to kill more humans,” Gerard spit, his distaste for the idea of meeting with them evident in his tone.

“I want you to stop,” Derek sternly spoke. “We never wanted this war.”

“Then you shouldn’t have started it by turning teenagers into weapons,” Allison replied.

“My pack has never harmed a human being unprovoked. Do you expect us to not defend ourselves when hunters try to murder us?” Derek sharply replied.

“You have fought us for years, Derek,” Gerard stated.

“I have fought for justice for my family,” Derek grumbled. “Your daughter’s the one that started that.” He released a deep growl, his claws growing.

“Then how about I finish it?” A female voice stated, emerging from the darkness. The woman smiled at Derek as she joined the ranks of her family. “Miss me, Derek?”

“A little, but from this range, I’m sure my speed and aim has improved,” Derek remarked.

“Kate,” Chris’ snapped as he looked at his sister. “I told you to wait.”

“I know, but Stiles didn’t want to,” Kate remarked.

Erica and Boyd’s features softened, both of them looking to Derek. Neither of them sensed Stiles’ presence, taken by surprise when Derek suddenly looked back up to the balcony Allison had been on.

Derek knew that heartbeat. He knew how erratic it could become, pulse beating wildly under his lips. He knew how it skipped a beat whenever its owner locked eyes with him. He knew how fast and loud it could get while rolling around in bed, focusing on nothing but the feeling of hands and lips against skin. He knew how steady it had been when its owner shot him with a wolfsbane bullet. He knew how different it had become since the Sheriff’s death. But he still heard its originally soft and welcoming beat—the beat that had once comforted Derek.

It only took a split second for Derek to see the arrow speeding towards his heart. He snatched it when the arrowhead was an inch from hitting his chest. He kept his sight on the shadows, waiting for him to show himself.

“You were a lot of things, _Stiles_ ,” Derek announced. “But you were never a coward,” he finished as he easily snapped the arrow in two.

“I’m not a hero, either,” Stiles’ voice shot back as he emerged from the shadows. He was glaring down at Derek, his face stone cold as he looked down at the man he once thought he would spend eternity with. The man that meant everything to him, until the night everything crashed down. He pretended to be okay, to forget that his father was torn apart like tissue paper by werewolves. He tried to hide how much he wanted to pull away from Derek whenever they were in the middle of having sex. How all he could picture was Derek’s claws tearing through his skin, his teeth ripping him apart. So he blamed everything on him before running. He started tracking down and killing every werewolf the hunters could find, even injuring and scuffling with Derek and the pack. He never forgot the look Derek gave him when he shot him with a wolfsbane bullet.

“Your father thought you were a hero,” Derek replied.

Stiles instantly saw red. He drew another arrow, this time a flash-bang. He aimed directly at Derek again, knowing he would likely catch it, but the flash would disorient him no matter what.

Derek released a loud roar, causing the hunters to cringe. It was a warning to the rest of the pack that hopes of negotiation were completely lost. He easily dodged the arrow, letting it collide with the ground behind him. Erica and Boyd dove to the side, avoiding the arrows and bullets the other hunters started shooting at them.

“Stop!” Chris yelled, trying to regain some form of order. But it was useless when he realized the pack and his family weren’t going to listen.

Erica distracted Allison as best she could as Boyd managed to hit Gerard hard enough to send him stumbling back into the vehicle. Chris tried to avoid shooting, purposefully missing when he had to give off warning shots as Boyd closed in on him. Derek took his chance and made a straight line for Kate. He knew he had only moments before Stiles descended the ladder to join the fight. He had to kill Kate before that—before he preoccupied himself with facing Stiles.

It happened in a blur, his hand wrapping around Kate’s throat as he successfully dodged her defensive blows. He tightened his hold on her, every memory—every manipulation—came flooding back to him. Every touch she gave, every word she spoke, was a lie that cost Derek most of his family. And then, she stole Stiles. His claws started to dig into her throat, his instincts telling him to just close his fingers around her windpipe and tear it out.

Until Kate smiled.

Derek immediately sensed it, tossing her back as he spun to face Stiles. He easily knocked the handgun from Stiles’ hand, a swell of confidence at how easy it was to disarm him, that perhaps Stiles wasn’t actually willing to fight him.

Stiles didn’t surrender. He drew his knife from his thigh holster, his hold on the grip tightening as he swung at Derek. A knife was more personal than he wanted, but he couldn’t see past his rage—past the truth.

Derek had used him. He didn’t love him. He took what pleasure he could from him. He was responsible for his father. It was a mantra he recited to himself as he fell asleep every night. A mantra he used to push himself past his limits.

Derek was avoiding him. He moved with ease, avoiding the knife’s blade as best he could, receiving minor cuts here and there before realizing it was laced with wolfsbane. He grasped Stiles’ wrist on his next swing, halting him. His instincts got the better of him—the instincts Peter had drilled into him.

 _‘He doesn’t love you. He never did. He leaped into their arms a little too quickly, don’t you think?’_ Peter’s voice rang in Derek’s ears.

Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles’ throat, slamming him into the wall. He had him pinned, one hand holding the hand that held the knife as the other pressed down on his throat. His eyes flared crimson, his teeth bared as he glared at Stiles. He twisted Stiles’ wrist until he winced, his hand falling open until he dropped the knife.

Stiles was panting heavy, his mind telling him this was the end. That in the end he was going to die in Derek’s arms. Only now, it wasn’t how he once pictured it. He was once willing to risk everything for Derek. He was willing to die for him if it meant saving him from harm’s way.

 _‘Protecting a beast never did anyone any good. He didn’t love you, Stiles. He used you as a shield, like he uses everyone as a way to shield himself from his own guilt—his own nature. He won’t hesitate killing you if it meant he got what he wanted,’_ Kate’s voice flashed through Stiles’ mind.

Stiles was surprised when Derek’s grip on him loosened. He watched the crimson drain from his eyes as they retook their hauntingly unreal spectrum of green. He watched his fangs retract, his lips dropping into a stoic line before he frowned.

Derek let his hand fall from Stiles’ wrist, his other hand sliding down from Stiles’ throat, palm resting just over his heart. There was a time long ago he’d give anything to hold Stiles again—to be close enough to inhale his scent and take him into his arms. He wanted Stiles back—always had—and seeing him again only made him realize that it didn’t matter what side they had fallen on in this war. He was still madly in love with him, despite how deeply Stiles had cut him.

“Go home, Stiles,” Derek weakly stated, pulling his hand away from Stiles as if he had been burned. _He’d still be that smiling dork if I never walked into his life. His father would still be alive._

Stiles stared at Derek, shocked that he was letting him go. He wanted Derek to hurt him, to give him a reason to hate him. He hadn’t spoken to Derek in over a year—yelling insults in an attempt to provoke each other didn’t count, not when they used to talk to each other like they hung the moon for the other. Every battle scar he had meant nothing compared to the one on his heart, and he blamed Derek for it. He hated Derek for it. Even though he knew it was his own fault.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Derek’s roar of pain. His eyes widened as he watched Derek fall onto his knees as he clutched his back. He was surprised to see that Gerard was holding the knife Stiles had dropped. _When did he pick it up?_ Stiles realized that he was so focused on Derek, that he didn’t notice Erica and Boyd on their knees, Chris’ handgun hesitantly aimed at Boyd as Allison tightly held onto the arrow currently lodged into Erica’s shoulder. More importantly, Stiles realized that Derek had been so focused on him, his senses didn’t register what happened.

Derek turned his head, fighting off the wolfsbane coursing through his body. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but enough to force his body into shutting down—into immobilizing him. He grunted in pain when Gerard pulled the knife out with a twist, causing Derek to wobble before falling onto his hands. He looked up to see his Betas watching him with fear and concern. He tried to move, to crawl just far enough away from the threat to give his body time to heal.

“Pathetic,” Gerard scoffed under his breath.

“I think he looks good on his knees,” Kate sneered, a small laugh bubbling up from her chest.

Stiles was staring at Derek, frozen still. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to care when Derek finally fell. It wasn’t supposed to be drawn out. Dead and done, able to go back to his life. His life. _What life?_

“What’s wrong Stiles?” Kate questioned when she saw his eyes glued to Derek’s slowly crawling form. She moved to pick up a piece of piping laying around from all the construction. She dragged the metal across the ground, lazily walking over to Derek. “I thought you liked him on all _fours_ ,” she emphasized the word as she lifted the pipe above Derek.

Stiles felt his stomach clench, churning wildly as he watched the metal pierce through Derek’s abdomen. He flinched when Derek’s mouth drew open to yell with his head hanging low as his claws dug into the ground, nothing but white noise filling Stiles’ ears. He caught sight of Erica and Boyd struggling to make a move to help their Alpha—their friend.

Stiles realized this wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t vengeance or justice: it was humiliation. They wanted to drag this out and humiliate Derek as much as possible.

Stiles was the human that fell in love with a werewolf. He was the laughing stock of the hunters he joined. It wasn’t just the Argents, but every other hunter that felt like taking a crack at mocking him—asking who did who; if werewolf dicks were different from human; if he ever made Derek choke on his dick. He let them have their pathetic laughs, but it was different compared to now. Derek wasn’t there to hear it, he wasn’t bleeding out on the floor while no doubt assuming Stiles told stories about them. _Ridiculed_ their time together.

“Sorry, Der, does that hurt?” Kate smiled as she twisted the pipe, a smile splitting her lips.

“Kate!” Chris yelled when he noticed what his sister was doing.

“Leave your sister be,” Gerard demanded.

“One less werewolf in the world, Chris,” Kate replied. “I’m doing everyone a favor.”

Derek winced, his breathing ragged as he gasped to catch his breath. He spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, not caring to swallow it. He was trying to focus on his healing, ignoring the way the pit in his stomach dropped at hearing Kate’s implication. The implication that Stiles actually talked about him—about _them_. Maybe it was the only way for Stiles to get his anger over him out. Maybe he liked humiliating him—liked turning their good times into a joke. _The hunter that tamed an Alpha—tamed an animal_.

“I’m going to rip your throat out,” Derek weakly threatened.

Kate laughed, leaning onto the pipe to add more to the twisting pressure. “You seem incapable of living up to that threat, darling.”

“I still have teeth,” Derek growled. “Come a bit closer and find out just how _incapable_ I am.”

“You were beat a long time ago, Derek,” Kate spoke as she leaned closer to his ear. “You lost the minute Stiles became a hunter, because no matter how many of us you kill, you’ll never hurt him.”

 _‘You’ll never hurt him.’_ Stiles suddenly understood what was happening. The reason Gerard and Kate welcomed him with opened arms.

“No matter how savage a werewolf is, they won’t kill their _mate_ , will they?” Kate ran her hand through Derek’s hair, roughly tugging it to the side in an attempt to make him look at Stiles.

Derek kept his eyes cast down, remaining silent as he let Kate curl her fingers into his hair like pistons. He knew it would only be worse if he pulled away. _She’d find a way to make it worse._

“Enough of this,” Gerard interrupted them. “Stiles, finish it.”

Stiles looked away from Derek for the first time, eyes wide as he gaped at Gerard.

“This is what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?” Gerard more stated than questioned. “The last obstacle a hunter goes through is what they are willing to sacrifice for the cause.”

“I suggest you let my nephew go,” Peter’s voice broke the strain of the moment, making everyone look to see him. Peter had managed to sneak up on Allison, his hand wrapped around her throat as his claws drummed and trailed along her neck. His eyes were glowing their cold blue, daring the Argents to test him.

“Why bother?” Kate questioned, twisting the pipe especially harsh, causing Derek to suppress a whimper. “With him dead, the Alpha spark goes to you—the last Hale.”

“Despite popular belief,” Peter started, tightening his grip on Allison to make her whimper in the same manner Kate had done to Derek. “I find being an Alpha a responsibility I’d rather not have. Power and being feared are fun, but leading isn’t my forte.”

Derek wanted to roll his eyes, despite how grateful he was for Peter at the moment.

“Put a bullet in Derek’s head, Stiles,” Gerard stated.

Allison’s eyes widened when she heard her grandfather’s words.

“Stop this! Gerard!” Chris yelled his name before looking at Peter. “Please, let my daughter go. She has nothing to do with that,” he gestured towards Gerard and Kate.

“Says the hunter pointing the gun with wolfsbane bullets at my nephew’s Betas,” Peter scoffed. “And if Allison is so innocent, what are her arrows made of, rock candy?” He rolled his eyes, keeping his grip on Allison.

“Allison failed us when she let Scott go,” Gerard stated. “You know our rules, Christopher. Killing Derek is too important to risk.”

“Scott was innocent,” Allison argued, daring to move a little against Peter’s grip. “He joined Derek’s pack _after_ I let him go. We … we _protect_ the innocent,” her voice wavering for the first time, as if she was questioning everything her family had taught her.

“What about my family?” Derek managed to utter.

“Yes, Kate. Tell us how you helped _protect_ our family,” Peter added.

“The Hales were peaceful. We had nothing to do with the fire,” Chris stated, as if he had spend hours explaining it before.

“Almost nothing,” Kate murmured.

Stiles looked up at Kate. “That’s what this is all about,” he finally found his voice. “You want to finish what you started all those years ago—at any cost.”

“Derek’s the last Alpha in Beacon Hills,” Gerard explained. “Once he dies, Peter will be next.”

“Well now there is _nothing_ holding me back from killing her,” Peter stated as he tightened his grip on Allison.

Allison gasped, grasping at Peter’s forearm in a desperate plea for him to loosen his grip.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles suddenly stated, quickly standing to march over to his previously casted away pistol. He tightened his grip on the pistol, fingers becoming weak from the pressure. The gun felt heavier than before as he marched over to Kate and Derek.

“Stiles, don’t,” Peter’s voice was heavy with warning.

“I don’t believe you, Peter,” Stiles stated as he looked up. “You might not want to lose Derek, but you won’t risk your life avenging him, even if you become Alpha.” He held Peter’s gaze as he cocked the hammer back on the gun. “And if you were going to kill Allison, you would have done it already.”

Kate smiled at Stiles, nodding her head in approval. She quickly yanked the pipe out of Derek, giving him an easy kick to the ribs in order to turn him over.

Derek fell onto his back, his hands falling to the open wound. It was slowly healing, but there was no way he could get up to fight back, not with Stiles standing over him the way he was. He looked up at Stiles, hearing the sudden blip in his heartbeat when their eyes connected.

Stiles raised the gun, pointing it down at Derek. His fingers were heavy against the grip, his palms sweating as he realized that he was about to _execute_ someone. _Not just someone—Derek_. It was always different when someone died in the middle of a skirmish. It was easier to explain away then. But to be looking down at them—to be looking down at Derek—was different.

“Don’t second guess yourself, Stiles,” Gerard stated.

Derek let his eyes bleed crimson, closing his eyes as he twisted his head to the side, letting his fangs grow. He opened his eyes and bared his fangs, allowing his transformation to take over his features. “Does this make it easier for you?” He bitterly questioned. He wanted Stiles to prove him right in thinking he never saw him as anything but an animal. “To put down the animal you always saw me as?”

Stiles hesitated, the spike in his heartbeat back. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“He’s responsible for your father’s death. Do you think the Sheriff would want a man to get away with that? Especially with what he did to you?” Gerard’s voice was deeper, gruffer than before.

Derek’s gaze flickered from Stiles, looking at Gerard in complete surprise—utter shock at what he heard. He looked back at Stiles, his eyes losing their red glow as he understood what happened. What happened to Stiles a year ago—what happened to them.

It was all Stiles needed.

“I loved you,” Stiles stated with tears burning his eyes before pulling the trigger.

Erica loudly shrieked, her eyes glowing gold as she sunk to her hands, her eyes glued to Derek. Boyd released a loud roar as he stood, prepared to fight to the death. Peter’s eyes widened, his hand falling from Allison in complete shock, causing her to gasp for air as Chris grabbed her in order to pull her to safety.

“Good boy,” Kate smiled at Stiles, moving to rest a hand on his shoulder. She kicked Derek foot, a pointless action as she smugly turned to look at her father.

“Did you kill my father?” Stiles’ voice weakly asked, looking down at Derek’s unmoving body as he waited for an answer. He watched the blood slowly pooling on the floor by his head, turning his gaze to memorize the upturned side of his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kate commented, nothing sincere about her words.

“Did you just want me to be a hunter because you knew Derek wouldn’t hurt me?” Stiles asked, more force in his voice, the gun becoming lighter in his hand.

“If that’s true,” Gerard started. “Then there really isn’t a point to you anymore, is there?”

“There is still one Hale left,” Kate chimed in, eyes looking over Peter. “Stiles can still be useful. Can’t you?” She turned to look at Stiles, ruffling his hair a little.

“Not really,” Stiles stated. He suddenly turned and aimed the gun at Gerard before shooting him. His eyes were burning with rage when Kate turned to look at him in shock. “You ruined my life—the life of my friends, just so you and your sickly twisted father could kill innocent people.”

“You’re the one that pulled the trigger every time, sweetheart,” Kate bitterly stated, all an attempt to hide her fear as her hand moved to rest on the handle of her gun slowly backing away from Stiles.

“Doesn’t mean I aimed to kill every time,” Stiles hollowly stated.

Derek was suddenly up, moving past Stiles in lightning speed to grab Kate. He wrapped his hand around her throat as she stared at him with wide eyes.

Stiles saw Derek’s hand close, his claws tearing through delicate flesh just as Peter had threatened to do to Allison, only this time there was no hesitation. Derek didn’t give Kate a chance to protest, to make excuses, and Stiles was thankful. He let the gun drop from his hand, staring at the ground as he let it all sink in. Everything he did within the past year, every person he injured or killed could have been innocent. They most likely were, given the lengths Kate and Gerard went to just to get Derek. “Fuck,” his curse was breathy, uneven as the weight of the guilt hit him. _I’m not a fucking hero, I’m a murderer_.

Stiles’ back slammed into the wall behind him, his breathing jagged and uneven, his lungs contracting in an attempt to get more air. He clutched at his chest as the tears ran down his face. He couldn’t stop seeing their faces, hearing their cries of pain. He sunk to the ground, placing his head between his knees.

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice broke through the white noise, strong familiar hands on his shoulders. “Stiles, it’s Scott,” he spoke in a gentler voice. “You’re having a panic attack. I need you to breathe with me,” he instructed him, running a hand over Stiles’ neck in a comforting manner, like he used to before everything went to hell.

“Scott, I—I messed up. I—” Stiles stammered as he raised his head.

Scott pulled Stiles into a hug, holding him against his chest as he drew some of his pain and anxiety away. “We all did,” his words were reassuring against Stiles’ ear.

Stiles closed his eyes, tightly hugging Scott as he let himself fall into his best friend’s embrace. It was an embrace he had forgotten all about—an embrace he forgot he needed. He opened his eyes when he heard Chris’ voice.

“I meant what I said, Derek,” Chris explained. “I agreed to meet with you for peace. I’ve had enough of this fighting, so have a lot of the others.”

“Clearly,” Peter sarcastically commented. He turned to inspect the side of Derek’s head that was bloodstained, watching the grazed bullet wound slowly healing. He reached a hand up to inspect it closer when Derek smacked his hand away.

“What about the other hunters? What if they are like Kate and Gerard?” Derek questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

“The Argents—what’s left of us—stand with you and your pack. I know that sounds like an empty promise, but both Allison and I had nothing to do with whatever Kate and Gerard had planned,” Chris stated, his arm protectively wrapped around Allison’s shoulders.

“I would agree with that … But will you? You seem to want me dead,” Allison spoke to Peter in particular.

“For what it’s worth,” Peter started as he turned his gaze on Allison. “I wouldn’t have killed you. Stiles was right.” He released a low chuckle when Allison looked at him skeptically. “Trust me, I don’t want Lydia to skin me and use my pelt for a rug.”

“That … sounds like Lydia,” Allison replied.

“I believe you. Both of you,” Derek interrupted them, wanting to forget that they were trying to kill each other moments ago.

“What are you going to do about this?” Peter asked, gesturing towards Kate and Gerard’s bodies.

“Not all the other hunters will be happy, but I’ll tell them the truth. They broke the code. They killed innocent people, and those people were avenged by their pack,” Chris explained, his sight drifting from the bodies of his father and sister to Stiles and Scott. He noticed Isaac was hovering behind Scott, watching over the two of them as Stiles cried into Scott’s shoulder, his panic attack almost completely gone.

“I’m not sure if he’ll want to, but Stiles is still welcomed to come back with us,” Chris stated.

“Stiles is coming with us,” Scott suddenly answered, looking from his best friend to the others. He looked at Derek, his eyes flashing from their Beta gold to their Alpha red when Derek didn’t make a move to confirm or deny his request—demand. Scott still hadn’t transformed from Beta to True Alpha, but he was getting there, especially when it came to his friends and family—his pack. Even without holding the position of Alpha, Scott still didn’t hesitate to challenge Derek.

“If he wants to,” Derek finally stated.

Stiles turned his head from Scott, glancing at Derek. He bit his bottom lip when Derek looked away from him. He looked at Scott, uncertain.

“Time to come home,” Scott stated in reassurance.

Stiles looked down, hesitantly nodding his head in agreement.

It wasn’t until they were outside that Stiles felt more at ease. The further away from the construction site, the clearer his head was, making him feel better. He was thankful for Scott’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, his body pressed tightly against his. He knew Scott was trying to give him pack comfort, an attempt to draw away his uncertainty by welcoming him with open arms.

“Hey, Batman,” Erica greeted him, giving him a light punch on his arm. “I almost didn’t forgive you back there for a second. I thought you really shot him.”

Stiles looked at the ground.

“Erica,” Derek’s voice was low and rough—his Alpha voice.

“Shutting up,” Erica announced, giving Stiles a small kiss on his forehead before moving to join Boyd in the car.

“I’ll take Peter in my car,” Derek started as he approached Scott, holding the keys out to him. “You make sure they don’t get into any trouble.”

“We’re a couple of teenagers, Peter is worse,” Erica protested as she hung out the window.

“I’m not that bad,” Peter announced as he walked over to the Camaro.

“I’ll make sure we don’t overdo the partying,” Scott stated, taking the keys from Derek.

Derek turned to look at the others, watching as Isaac offered the front passenger seat to Stiles. Stiles shook his head, respectfully declining. Isaac gave him a sad smile before climbing into the front as Scott climbed into the driver’s seat.

Stiles was hovering by the open door, waiting to get in the empty back seat next to Erica. He had his arms wrapped around his stomach before turning his body a little towards Derek. “I … I’m sorry I shot you.” It was a weak statement, but it had been bothering Stiles ever since it happened.

“It’s fine. You missed me anyways,” Derek replied, his mouth running dry.

Stiles shook his head. “I meant the first time. I should have tried harder to miss then.” He quickly climbed into the car, closing the door behind him. He kept his eyes downcast, avoiding looking at anyone.

Derek tore his gaze away from Stiles, looking at Scott before giving him a nod to go. Scott didn’t hesitate to start the engine, heading off towards home.

The silence in the Camaro was a heavy one as Derek tightened his grip on the steering wheel, anger and guilt weighing down on him.

“You hold that steering wheel any tighter, and you’ll break it and cause an accident,” Peter commented as he continued to idly look out his window.

“Shut up,” Derek uttered.

“I’m just saying, baby nephew, that you need to relax,” Peter stated, turning to look at Derek for the first time. “What happened to Stiles wasn’t your fault, just as me getting in your head isn’t Stiles.”

“So you admit you manipulated me?” Derek growled.

“I admit that I convinced you to continue the fight,” Peter corrected him. “If I knew what they had convinced Stiles of …” He released a small growl of his own. “That boy deserved better. If you hadn’t ripped Kate’s throat out, I would have. The old man was lucky Stiles shot him.” His voice was full of a violent promise.

The rest of the ride was silent.

Derek slumped back into his seat when he turned off the engine upon reaching the house. He noticed the Cruiser was empty, knowing that the others must have dragged Stiles into the house. He wondered if bringing Stiles back to the Preserve was the best idea, or if it would bring back too many painful memories—ones of them together, as well as ones of stumbling over his father’s body. The house itself had held plenty of painful memories for Derek as well, until Peter had finally convinced him to gut and renovate it. Now it was _home_ —it was _pack_.

“If you say anything to Stiles, about the past, that upsets him, I will rip your throat out,” Derek stated before Peter made a move to exit the Camaro.

“I’m not that heartless,” Peter replied. “Just a bit burned and dead on the inside, but not completely heartless.” He exited the Camaro, waiting until Derek did the same. “Oh, and if you didn’t rip my throat out for that, I’d have to rip yours out.” He gave Derek his signature smile. He looked at the house before turning to walk back down the path leading back out of the Preserve.

“Where are you going?” Derek called after him.

“You have an emotionally manipulated teenage victim in there,” Peter started, turning back to face Derek. “Do you really think I am one of the best people to be in there dealing with it?”

Derek looked back at the house, partially wishing he could follow his uncle’s actions. But he knew he had to face it sooner or later.

“Derek,” Peter called his name, getting his attention. “It’s going to take a while to heal. You and I are still not healed after what happened here,”—he gestured towards the house—“And Stiles had no time to grieve, and accepted the embrace of those who wronged him.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t envy the kid. But you can always try to solve the problems, no matter how deep the cut is. So, get in there and break out the first aid kit.”

Derek was staring at the house as he listened to his uncle’s retreating footsteps. “Band aids don’t fix bullet holes.”

Derek waited a few minutes before entering the house, giving the pack enough time to help accommodate Stiles to being back.

“Boyd and I are still sharing a room, but Scott just moved in, so there isn’t the spare bed. Which wasn’t a problem before—” Erica immediately cut herself off when she realized she was broaching the subject of Stiles and Derek’s past.

“I can just sleep on the couch,” Stiles stated, still hugging his torso as he barely looked around the living room.

“I’ll bunk up with Isaac,” Scott offered as he entered the living room, multiple beers in hand. “I’d bunk up with you and have a sleep over but it’s a twin bed and I know how you kick,” he laughed as he handed Stiles a beer.

“Thanks,” Stiles offered a small smile, probably the best he could manage at the moment, as he accepted the beer. He sat down on the couch, holding the beer between his hands as his fingertips picked at the label.

“Um, I just want to say, no hard feelings are harbored here,” Scott started, looking at the other Betas. “We all still love you and we get that you weren’t yourself.”

Stiles didn’t mean to, but he found himself scoffing. He sipped his beer—sipped isn’t the right word, more like gulped down almost half his beer. “The thing is, I knew I was hurting you guys. I just … I couldn’t …”

“See past your rage,” Boyd stated.

Stiles looked up at Boyd in surprise.

“It’s something we have a hard time dealing with,” Boyd explained. “So we understand.”

“Yeah, we do, Stiles,” Erica replied.

“And we fought against you guys just as intensely,” Isaac offered as he leaned over the couch, leaning over Scott’s shoulder to look at Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles weakly answered. He nursed his beer for a few moments before taking another gulp, an attempt to steady his nerves.

“We should probably all turn in for the night,” Derek stated, making himself known as he stepped into the living room. He tried to pretend he didn’t sense the way Stiles tensed at his presence.

“Okay,” Scott agreed, patting Stiles gently on the back.

“Could I take a shower first?” Stiles questioned as everyone started to stand. “I just … I’d feel better,” he explained.

“Sure,” Scott nodded.

“I just realized I don’t have any clothes,” Stiles stated with a sad laugh.

“You can borrow some of mine if you want,” Scott offered.

“You actually have clothes here,” Derek found himself replying before he could stop.

Erica and Boyd gave each other a knowing look. They had been the most adamant about replacing everything that had to do with Stiles after the incident with the wolfsbane bullet. Scott was the one that argued against them, yelling that Stiles was still their friend, and that despite what happened, that he actually did care. Derek had to break up the fight that broke out between Boyd and Scott, Erica and Isaac joining in. They did destroyed more things—like the coffee table—than they originally intended to, cringing when Derek glared at them. They didn’t try to get rid of Stiles’ things after that. Instead, they let Derek box them up, storing them away in his closet as he mourned the loss of his mate on his secluded own.

Stiles nodded his head, still not looking at Derek. He couldn’t look at him, not since he forced himself to look at him as he pulled the gun’s trigger. He was confident in his aim, but if Derek hadn’t moved with him, if Stiles hadn’t perfectly aimed, the whole night would have ended differently.

“I’ll show you my room,” Scott broke the silence, gesturing towards the staircase. He waited for Stiles to follow him.

Derek waited for the others to head to their rooms before he ascended the stairs. He waited by the top of the stairs, watching Scott exist his room, walking down the hallway to Isaac’s room. He paused to offer Derek a faint smile in an attempt to reassure him. Derek only nodded back, only moving towards Scott’s room once he had closed the door to Isaac’s room.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” Derek stated as he lingered by the doorway.

Stiles had his back to him, observing the walls. He nodded in agreement, his scent turning melancholy.

Derek tore himself away, moving towards the bedroom, knowing this was going to be worse than angrily fighting each other. They had to trust each other in being sincere, and they didn’t have a lot of experience doing that, thanks to the last year. He lived with the ghost of Stiles’ presence haunting him for a year, and to think that he was just down the hall was hard to rationalize.

Derek went to his bureau, pulling one of the drawers out, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. He knew he had a problem when he pulled out Stiles’ old shirt and sweatpants that were securely hidden at the bottom of the drawer. But he couldn’t let Stiles completely go, even after he walked away. In the months after he left, he took comfort in the comfort the scent had given him. Even after his scent faded, he couldn’t move them out of habit. He turned to head back into the hallway, halting his steps when he saw that Stiles was leaning against the doorframe.

Stiles’ eyes were darting around the room, taking in how much it stayed the same. His eyes landed on his side of the bed, drifting over to his nightstand. He frowned when he noticed it still had his book resting on it. He had a feeling that if he looked in the drawer, he’d find his meds still nestled in there as well.

“I think they’ll still fit,” Derek’s voice interrupted his thoughts, placing the clothes in his hand on display.

Stiles let his eyes flicker over to the clothes, nodding. Stiles’ steps falter some as he closed the gap between him and Derek. His hand was shaking as he took the old lacrosse shirt and sweatpants he knew he had left here. Part of him was afraid at how much the overpowering smell of Derek would throw him off, would upset up. But it was immediately like falling back into their old life. Like the first time Stiles stayed the night, Derek offering him a pair of sweatpants the next morning, refusing to let Stiles walk around the house naked and risk scarring Isaac. He clung to the clothes, pressing them tightly against his chest as he nodded a ‘thanks’ to Derek, fighting the urge to bury his face in the material.

When Stiles didn’t make a move to leave, Derek crossed his arms over his chest, uncertain what was happening. He wanted to spend more time with Stiles, but standing in their room—his room—wasn’t what he had in mind. He had hard enough time forgiving and forgetting the memories that took place in this very room, without Stiles present. But with Stiles here, it was like a reenactment was about to happen.

“I didn’t say sorry just for show,” Stiles began, fingers fastening around the material of the spare clothes. “Part of me just wants to be able to forgive and forget. But then I start to think about everything I did. Everything you did in response.”

“We both wanted to end it,” Derek replied. “We didn’t want to think about the good times, because we cut each other pretty deep. We both messed up. But … forgiving and forgetting is different than letting go.”

Stiles finally looked up at Derek. He noticed how blood still stained the side of Derek’s head. The wound had completely healed by now, the crusted blood the only reminder.

“Could you ever let go of what I did?” Stiles weakly asked, his voice breaking with every word.

“I never held on to what you did,” Derek honestly replied, his voice soft and vulnerable.

Stiles nodded his head, his lip quivering as he started to cry. He closed his eyes, hiding his face behind a hand. He immediately shoved his body into Derek’s when he felt his hands touching his arms. He released his hold on his clothes, wrapping his arms around Derek’s torso, burying his fingers in the material of his shirt as he desperately clung to him. He pressed his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, crying for how much it hurt to be away—at how right it felt to be back. _Home_.

It wasn’t by any degree perfect, but it was right. They both had scars on their backs from each other’s knives, but their blood no longer ran cold. They fought, they blamed themselves, but they never turned to blaming each other again. They were able to heal all the deep wounds they were dealt. Because in the end, their love was a mad one.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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